Enjambment
by swampophelia
Summary: it is about the gaps, the leaps of faith necessary to go from one line to the next. the lines don't break where you expect them to, and sometimes it doesn't go anywhere it was supposed to go. An Ariadne-centric story set on the plane before Dom wakes.
1. On the flight

CHAPTER 1  
On the flight

**Disclaimer: Chris Nolan and WB owns everything. I just dream my little dream because they let me. I had to make some amendments. This is my first ever fanfic so I would appreciate it the feedback. I'm a big believer in love triangles, and I am a D/A fan so you know where I'm leaning. **

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She still knows how to dream, even after all that, she thinks. She's waiting to become like him – someone who can't dream. She remembers much too clearly, the probing questions, the inquisition.

_Do you know what it is to be a lover?_

The tone is drawn out, and Ariadne knows that the question does not quite pertain to whether she's actually had sex before but whether she has felt the weight of all that _that_ word implies. Been burdened with the responsibility, been burnt by the passion.

No, she has never been a lover. Odd, because now she knows it isn't really Mal asking the question as the projection stalks around her, but _him_.

But that's it. That's what draws her back here, back to a hotel room that she has never been in, to a window that she has never climbed out of, to the broken shards of glass that implied a violence that never actually happened.

She has never felt devotion of this magnitude before, but as she bears witness to this madness in her own world, she realizes that she does _feel_.

She waits by the riverside, clinging to the arms of a friend as they shiver in their sodden clothes.

"No, he'll be alright," she says with conviction. He nods, not knowing the wiser.

Sometimes she's waiting by the riverside alone, sometimes Arthur is with her. Sometimes the whole team is there. Sometimes she dives into the river, trying to get back to that crumbling city, and always Arthur holds her back. Arthur always does this by the riverside, all this because of that stolen kiss which barely even registered. She has to be honest with herself – of course it registered, otherwise it wouldn't be Arthur that would always hold her back.

It's pointless she knows, she isn't experienced enough to go into limbo by herself though she knows where all his markers are. He may not even be in his fantasy metropolis, hoping that he is chasing someone through their version of limbo and trying to get back home.

She never thought of herself as a sentimental creature before, but that was before she knew that sentimentality of this depth existed. She knows that part of this is a form of fangirl obsession – how can anyone not be in awe in the presence of true love? The fact that she is not the object of such affection didn't matter. What she could not ignore was the sense of connection, tenuous but true. She was not supposed to use real memories, but she can't help it. Her subconscious reexamines every inflection, every interaction.

She watched herself watching someone else saying goodbye to a shade. This is her basement. Whatever happens, no one else can know how much her face lit up when he says he would follow, that he would not lose himself and that he would come back. She watches herself stare out into the river, waiting. She's not supposed to use her memories, but where else can she prod her subconscious for clues? She is sitting at the corner café where she first learned to create worlds of her own.

As suddenly as she figured out she was in a dream that first time, she realizes that she no longer knows how to dream. She knows what guilt is like now. The mark had to be brought back. When she jumped off the window, she thought he would find his way. He said he would find Saito, but that was before she saw both bodies still stuck in the van and she kicks herself for not staying longer to make sure he was really alright. She pushed herself into this whole mess so that everyone else would be spared from the monsters in his head, but what she wants now more than anything is to kill those monsters for him. She knows it isn't her responsibility and he said so in those last moments before she jumped, yet she feels she owes him that much.

So she waits by the river, by the bridge, in all the places they've been together alone. But more often than not she goes back to the hotel room, where he can taunt her again and where his truth blends with her own. She can't bring herself to go to the beach, because Mal and the kids are there even in her own dreams.

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Eames and Arthur eye her as she dozes in her seat, concerned she was still napping though she was no longer connected to the PASIV. She thinks none of them are connected to the machine as Fischer wakes. She can't go back for him now, but she can't allow her eyes to betray her panic so she wills herself back to the Land of Nod. Truth is they were still halfway through the flight, and it would be several hours before they land. The compartment is dark yet she spies Cobb and Saito still sleeping. She resists Arthur's attempts to stir her awake behind her.

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Her mentor. Her leader. Her hero…? All right there's hero worship there. More like anti-hero worship. The tragic hero dying for love. She wanted him to live for love. She followed because she thought she understood. Because he asked her "Do you know what it is to be a lover?".

_No. I have never been a lover, nor a half of a whole. What I know about tragic heroes that die for love, I learned it from you. All I know of dreaming, I learned from you. All I know of guilt, I learned from you. Come back and then maybe I'll be free. _

She still doesn't understand why she feels guilty about the situation, only that she does.


	2. In a bar

CHAPTER 2  
In a bar

**Disclaimer: Chris Nolan and WB owns everything. I just dream my little dream because they let me. This chapter is seriously short, and I'm sorry for that because I'm working on another piece which has apparently become more ambitious than I originally thought. I figure this would take about 5-8 chapters (if I'm lucky enough to have the concentration necessary). I know my writing in this chapter is much weaker, but I do appreciate all the advice/help/reviews that could help. There will be some similarities between this and the other piece I'm working on, and the whole cast will likely show up in this piece as well (I love ensembles, but I hate writing them because I'm not sure I have everyone's voice correct).  
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Two men steadily gaze at their respective glasses as they perch by the airplane bar. It is not often that the jobs allow for such perks. Though they normally request for private transportation for security reasons, the more than occasional glitches require a measure of adaptability, strong stomachs and immunity to pungent aromas. At least, this time first class was truly first class.

The older man gulps down his scotch, lifting his eyes and examining the younger man next to him.

"I know you go way back."

The younger man continues to eye his drink, still coming off as calculating despite his blank expression. He has often waited out his partner while he finishes off various jobs. He was a point man after all, distracting the various projections so that the extraction could take place. He was cover fire and the sacrificial lamb – wolf would be the more appropriate allegory. A number of jobs have not gone according to plan but this... this has gone off the rails and flown to the moon and landed on the other side of the universe. It was just all manner of wrong. His partner still slumbered in the compartment, along with half the team including the Backer (_piggybacking tourist_, _he cursed inwardly_). If none of them got out, then this job was all for nothing.

"Why didn't anyone tell me that Cobb has no control over his subconscious? I thought you liked me more than that Darling?" Eames voice was jovial, but the accusation was still there.

"What happened down there Eames?", Arthur inquires in a tired deadpan voice.

"Arthur," drawled Eames, "I haven't worked with Cobb in a while, so I need you to enlighten me as to why a dead woman took our mark?" The strapping Brit smirked as he turned to face the younger man and continued, "And why is it that the ravishing, but late, Mrs. Cobb was in my dream when I don't recall having ever been that attached to her?"

"She showed up?"

"You're not surprised." It was not a question. "Well, if you were intending to tag team Cobb down there then maybe you should have taken the lower level… oh wait you can't. You don't act very well." No one else could possibly have taken the third level except Eames as Uncle Peter, he was the forger after all. "For a neophyte, she sure has balls."

"Mal? You of all people know she's not new to this."

"Our architect my dear," corrected Eames. "For someone entirely new to the game, she has more cojones than I thought that little body could hold."

Arthur waited for the older man to continue in silence, his face unreadable.

"She was the one to suggest chasing after Fischer into parts unknown. Which tells me that maybe it wasn't quite unknown to her. She practically pushed Cobb into going under. She was quite reassuring that she would help him deal with Mrs. Cobb."

Arthur's look of barely hidden surprise unsettled Eames significantly. "You didn't know? Haven't you been his best friend for years? You worked with both Mr. and Mrs. Cobb while they were still under government employ."

Arthur nodded and gulped his drink down in one fluid motion. Dom had been the best architect recruited by the Agency, and because Mal was Professor Steven Miles' daughter she was able to come in as an extractor. "When Dom and I underwent training under the Dream Share Program, the powers that be who at the time was Professor Miles declared that he was best suited to be the team Architect based on his psych profile. When they got lost in limbo, they took an extended leave of absence. The Agency was only going to set up one Dream Share team, and without the 2 central figures work stalled. We were supposed to be chasing people like... well, you, in Dream Underground..."

"**I** would have led you on a merry chase, if you boys had stuck to being legal stick-in-the-muds," interrupted Eames.

"After Mal committed suicide," continued Arthur, "Cobb ran as you know. The Agency knew where my loyalties lied. I suspect the Agency is using me to keep tabs on him, so I don't go Stateside that often. We don't talk about things that could incriminate him later, just in case. He never talks about her to me. We're men after all, we don't braid each other's hair and admit to our feelings."

"Oh darling your hair is much too short for braiding. You should've suggested weaving those kitschy friendship bracelets instead," Eames said blithely, waving his hand about as if trying to swat an annoying fly.

"He said he could control it," pressed Arthur.

"And you believed him?,"sighed Eames. "The problem with you lone wolves is that you don't recognize the understated cry for help, which apparently the little elfin minx has noticed. And I use that term deliberately because I noticed you sniffing."

Arthur looked nonplussed. "I'm not even going to dignify that with… whatever."

"Which part? That I noticed you getting sweet on Ariadne or the fact that she hasn't noticed you at all because she's watching someone else like a hawk? But more importantly, since you and Cobb are supposed to be BFFs, why wasn't it you down there? Why did she follow him? Darling, what is it that she knows that you don't?"


	3. At the edge of her seat

CHAPTER 3  
At the edge of her seat

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**Disclaimer: same as before.**

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He opened his eyes.

He was disoriented and it felt like he hasn't moved his body in ages. For what it was worth, it was a literal analogy.

He attempted to stretch, noting the wrinkles on his usually immaculately pressed trousers. For long-haul flights he would normally change to sweats or similar sleepwear that could bear the punishment of a confined space. Though he normally traveled private nowadays (which meant that he could often request for aircraft with an actual bed configuration in the compartment), habits ingrained from years of service meant that he was quite frugal for a man with his resources. Although they were in first class, he noted that the seat width was still not as wide as the seats on the private planes that were usually found for him (nor was it as luxurious as the first class of the top Asian airlines).

He examined his hands, exhilarated at the absence of spots and other telltale signs of emaciation. He remembered who he was, he was back.

He turned to his side, searching for the man that saved him.

He was still in his seat, with his eyes closed peacefully sleeping. He noted that only Cobb, himself and Fischer, Jr. were still connected to the metal case.

He looked around to see how the others were faring as he pulled the IV line off his wrist, wincing as he squeezed the cannula. The Indian – the chemist – seemed to be busy monitoring the younger Fischer while conversing with the chief flight attendant (who was under his direct employ in this particular matter). They seemed to be conferring how much longer the remaining dreamers could stay sedated before she had to go through with the landing procedures (which was apparently in three more hours). They hadn't realized that he was already awake.

He turned around, feeling someone boring holes in his head. He saw the girl, who he had presumed was still asleep as well. He remembered this girl and Cobb chasing after Fischer back in the snowy fortress. He held on as long as he could before that world faded and he ended up… elsewhere. He still couldn't remember exactly how he got to _where_ that was and _what_ exactly was there. But he hadn't seen her, only Cobb had been brought before him at that long ago (_was it long ago?_) dining table which meant she had already woken by the time Cobb found him.

She continued to give him a pointed look. "You owe him that much," she said in an icy tone.

Saito had faced down many an adversary, and he did not consider the girl as one. But the coldness in the girl's stare prompted him to remember that he was a man of honor, despite all the things that he has done in the service of the Corporation that the Family has founded.

"Yes," he said, his voice gravelly from long hours of disuse. Nothing else needed to be said.

The others turned from their deliberations around the younger billionaire once they heard the girl speak, and the flight attendant soon rushed towards him with a glass of water. He took the glass then waved her off, grasping the phone on his armrest and dialed a number as he emptied the glass into his parched mouth.

He made the call.

Afterwards, he pressed the button for the flight attendant to come back. In real time, he had been out for at least six hours and he had not had a chance to sample the in-flight cuisine. He did buy nearly all the young Australian airline's stock and his business-centered mind knew it was necessary to have a sense of the normal services it provided. The purchase needed to appear to be a legitimate investment, otherwise his own majority shareholders (namely the Family) would not be pleased.

He selected his meal from the menu provided by the chief FA, and noted the dearth of international selections. _And these airlines wonder why no one wanted to shell out good money for first class? _He understood the energy industry – power made the world function, in the small and grand things and everything in between. He found no sensible reason for personal transport to be operated as a monopoly yet he saw no profit in unnecessary diversification. As soon as the fiscal year was over, when the Inception's results had fully manifested, he would jettison the stock.

The silence in the cabin prompted him to look around and notice that the other men were not at their seats. Likely they were stretching their limbs. _Something I should be doing myself_.

He stood up and turned around, intending to take the staircase at the rear of the first class compartment to investigate the airplane bar that solely occupied the Boeing 747 mezzanine, and was startled by the fitful appearance of the young woman seated behind him. Her eyes were closed, and she was mumbling to herself. He spoke to her not longer than ten minutes prior and she seemed to have stumbled back to sleep – which is impossible. No one that can look at him that sharply could fall back to sleep that quickly.

"Excuse me?," he said gently. He nudged the girl's shoulder tentatively. "Maybe you shouldn't be taking a nap? I presume that it isn't often that you fly first class so may I suggest that you allow yourself to enjoy the facilities and the service?"

"I wouldn't exactly call that restful sleep," she deadpanned. The young woman turned her head and looked surreptitiously across the aisle through half-closed eyes. "I'm trying to clear my head."

She fully opened her eyes and exclaimed, "Why are they still connected to the machine?"

Saito looked behind him and noted that both Fischer and Cobb were still connected to the PASIV and still dozing.

"From what I understand, the sedatives that Yusuf gave us have an effective potency that lasts at least 8 hours. Given that it is already 6 hours in, I believe Yusuf was considering allowing the sedative to run its course just to ensure that the Inception fully takes effect."

Both of them stared at the dark blonde man across the aisle, troubled expressions on both their faces.

"They're keeping it on for him," Saito monotoned.

"They're not sure if he could make it out if he's disconnected to it before he comes back," Ariadne intoned with resignation. "Plus it wouldn't do us any good if our mark sees Cobb connected to that case when he wakes up."

Saito sat by the edge of the armrest of her seat, his quest for a drink forgotten. Ariadne didn't seem to mind, in fact she adjusted her position so that she could still have an unobstructed view of Cobb and still look up at the client.

"He said he would find you," Ariadne volunteered after what seemed like an interminable amount of oppressive silence.

"He obviously did," he responded. His tone was without arrogance nor annoyance.

Saito could not comprehend how this man who pulled him out of limbo, who had done the impossible Inception, could be lost. He was starting to remember things more clearly now – they said that they would be young men again together. Cobb gave him his gun, and he shot himself in the head. It was not a pleasant experience.

"He said he would come back. I thought he was alright. I shouldn't have believed him."

Saito turned and looked down at the young woman. Her shoulders were slumped and her seat seemed to swallow up her too small frame. From what he understood, this was her first job. Yet somehow, she seemed to be burdened with such a heavy weight and her eyes seemed to stare out at the man across them with an intensity that would be easy to label as desire were it not for the darkness in her expression.

He was born during the onset of the sixties and remembered the tales of his elders about the Family's role during the last World War. The Family had supported much of the war effort, opening up not just their coffers to the Emperor but had sent able bodied grand uncles and uncles to the front. When they came back (they were able to secure some of the Family behind more secure posts, but not for all), it seemed like they never really came back. There was one uncle, his mother's cousin who was a favorite of his grandfather, who had been stationed in China and was apparently involved in the occupation of Nanking which lasted well into the fifties after the World War officially ended. This uncle's wife refused to give up and had questioned why the Family did not further use its influence to bring him home. But the War weakened their influence immensely, especially after the Americans came after Hiroshima and established their bases. It would be well into the eighties before the Family earned back their economic and political might, befriending both the Allied and Axis powers and becoming a mega-corporation that spanned the globe.

When this uncle came home after the Chinese finally expelled them, his wife had been waiting. Surprisingly, he seemed to have been the most adjusted of all the returning soldiers. But he remembered this aunt, whose eyes still had a haunted look up to the day she died in the eighties. They said that she never forgave herself for not trying hard enough to bring her husband home.

He looked at Ariadne and saw his bent aunt, even their height was the same. He touched her shoulder, urging her to look at his eyes.

"Ms. Ariadne, you are too young to live a life of regret."

**Author's note: I had fun writing Saito, mostly because I've actually known a good number of Saito-type individuals. I also realized there aren't that many that write Saito (at least in the non A/A fanfiction pieces). For those who are not aware, the Occupation of Nanking (or Nanjing, depending on which romanization of Mandarin you wish to use) is a fact. This is one of the main reasons behind the modern tensions between mainland China and Japan both economically and politically.  
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	4. Standing on the aisle

CHAPTER 4  
Standing on the aisle

**Disclaimer: There are authors that are particularly allergic to fanfiction. There was this story about Margaret Weis I think (it may have been another Margaret) who had initially been kind to fanfiction writers but when she came out with a sequel to her book that was very similar to a story written by a fan, the fan sued. Pissed her off immensely and ever since then she hated all fanfiction writers. I know George R.R. Martin is hard line about his creations (he thinks of them as his children). I'm not sure how the rest of the fandom feel about having an actual Inception movie or TV series sequel, as that would entail Chris Nolan actually putting serious thought to it. There's a camp that thinks Inception should remain a stand-alone piece, allowing the fans to think about the world Nolan created at their will. I wonder if the community of fanfiction is actually helping or hindering the creation of such a sequel? What do you think?**

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It bothered him.

He climbed downstairs in a deliberate fashion, as they were the only occupants of the first class compartment. For the whole flight, they practically owned the joint. His pulse quickened when he met Saito at the foot of the stairs. He was about to bounce off, a merry quip to greet his best friend when he caught the somber expression on the Backer's face. He knew then.

He went down the last riser at a more sedate pace instead. Yusuf said they only had about two hours left before they have to disengage the PASIV from both Fischer and Cobb. Yusuf met him and Eames at the bar about an hour ago and told them that Saito had already woken up but Cobb was still under.

Yusuf also mentioned that Ariadne had also wakened from her self-induced stupor and was at least communicating with Saito. He supposed it was natural, as they were the only two to have come out of limbo. _Probably taking notes._

He didn't come down immediately to check on them as Eames had expected. There was a part of him that just wanted to prove Eames wrong about his whole read of the Ariadne Situation. He fancied the girl – that much was true. She broke the mold from his normal type. He usually did like smart brunettes. Though he usually liked them leggy… and classy. Cobb knew he had a bit of a crush on Mal, but that had never gotten in the way of his friendship with both Cobbs.

Cobb was his best friend and he loved the man. Correction, he _loves _the man like a brother. So what really bothered him was exactly why and how his crush of the moment usurped his position. _For goodness sake, I've known Mal for years_.

Arthur walked down the aisle and stopped next to Cobb's armrest. Cobb's eyes were rapidly shifting under his lids, indicative of active REM sleep. He had been like this for several hours now. Based on the latest dream theories posited by the Agency, his brain was practically frying from all the abnormal cerebral activity. There was another theory that said he might actually be expanding the use of his brain from the so-called regular five percent of the average human, but at this point it really didn't matter if he didn't wake up.

He felt helpless standing there. He missed so many details throughout this whole job, each failure cascading from one small mistake to another. For a moment, Arthur felt like he had stabbed his best friend when he was supposed to have had his back. His face was crestfallen, displaying emotion that normally would not have been witnessed by anyone other than… Mal, in fact.

"It wasn't your fault."

Ariadne's alto voice penetrated his depression. He instinctively straightened his back and wore a blank mask as he faced her. Her eyes were penetrating yet kind, and he allowed himself to relish how lovely she was. It was that brief moment that he recognized what attracted him to her in the first place. _She's got the same no-bullshit spirit._

"How are you?", he asked with genuine concern.

Ariadne shifted her eyes from him to Cobb then back to him. "How are you?", she asked back.

They were running out of time, and there were things he needed to know. He did like her, but he** needed** to get Cobb out.

"What aren't you telling me?," he asked point blank. He approached her, taking his seat behind her.

_How could she tell him? She didn't even know where to start. _First of all it wasn't even her place. She didn't even have the right to know the things she knew herself. However this all panned out, she vowed to herself (and to _him_) that she would not betray the secret that broke the man. She would do that for him at least.

Arthur waited. Ariadne held on to her silence. He decided he needed to take a different tack. He looked at his watch. "We only have forty minutes left. We need to take the PASIV off then." He did learn extraction from the best, and extraction is after all just another form of interrogation.

Ariadne glared icily at him, put off by the deliberate ploy. She saw through the attempt to guilt her and she did what her instinct told her. She stood up and slapped him in the face.

Arthur was stunned, clearly not expecting that reaction.

"I told you that it wasn't your fault. Everyone makes mistakes and sometimes things get missed. We all missed things down there."

She falters and seems to look inward, but only for a moment.

"It wasn't your fault that he didn't tell you what you thought you should know. The truth of the matter is you couldn't possibly, remotely have understood anyway. It had nothing to do with your friendship. Knowing about it now will not help you nor him," Ariadne monotones, eyes shining with concern.

Arthur looked at her face, his mind digesting the information slowly. "I'm just trying to understand."

Ariadne's heart ached upon hearing her words thrown back at her.

"It's not your fault either," he says. Whatever it was that ate at her, he wanted to help lighten that burden because whatever millstone was around Cobb's neck – it was now around hers. She had spent an inordinate amount of effort helping Cobb, and he realized that she was doing the same for him, probably Saito too.

Arthur had hit the nail on the coffin. She didn't have enough time. Her guilt felt unbearable to her... and another feeling that she didn't want to place was stubbornly finding traction in her psyche.

"I could go back for him," she broaches knowing full well she doesn't know where to even begin.

Arthur was already shaking his head in disapproval when it hit her – she did know where to begin. Where it all began (_at least for her_).

Arthur continued to shake his head, alarmed at the determined change in her face. She was leaving him. Nothing had even begun and here he was losing his oldest and newest friends. He didn't have that many people he called friends, and now he was losing them. _Shit, I'm not gonna stand for this._

"Why the hell do you have to be so much like him?", he fumes.

And there it was. The root of it all.

She was like them both, Dom and Mal.

He had always counted on Dom's no-BS stolidity in the Dream Space. And as much as he denied it he hadn't allowed himself to even think that Cobb was losing it because that meant he was losing the little family he had become a part of. Cobb had become Mal, and Ariadne had become Cobb.

"I think I know how to get him back, and I don't need to go to limbo to do it," said Ariadne with a smirk. "And no, I won't lose myself. I'm better, remember?"

Arthur was spurred to action, taking out a new IV tube and a regular sedative dose while Ariadne returned to her customary seat.

"I'm not going to be gone long," she reassured him. "Give me maybe five minutes real time."

"Are you sure? That's all you need?" Ariadne nodded.

When Ariadne finally went under, Arthur knelt by her seat and stroked her face. He realized that he never had a chance. Just like with Mal.


	5. Down the shaft part 1

CHAPTER 5  
Down the shaft, part 1

**DISCLAIMER: same as in previous chapters.**

**Author's Note: Brace yourself, this is a long one. I'm also going to post a longer A/N after all this. This was something that NEEDED to be finished. It just held me in its grip until I made it all the way through to the end. It also went on a lot, lot longer than I expected or planned for. All this after I just wanted to do a one-shot.**

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She stares at the column of numbers and letters. She doesn't move for several moments. She doesn't think. The small, dimly lit elevator was oddly comforting. Her hands grasped onto the bottom hem of her white jacket, and she realizes she's still wearing the outfit she wore on the plane.

_There's no peace Topside. No space, no time to think. I'm horrible, using Arthur's…_ Ariadne's head cocks to the side, _what is it? Affection? For me? Manipulating his loyalty to…I can't even allow myself to think his name._

_He…said he would follow. (_Ariadne stomps a foot in frustration) _What is the freaking point of actually finding Saito if you lose yourself? What was all this for?  
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Ariadne's anger was rolling off her in waves, and she wasn't sure if it was really directed inward or out towards a man she knew more intimately than she wanted to. She lied to Arthur. She had allowed herself a false sense of certainty and bravado when she hit upon the idea that **mayb**e going back to the scene of the crime would unlock a prison. _But which scene?_

She felt for her bishop through the fabric of her trouser pocket as she pushed the button "B".

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Five in the afternoon was the best time for outdoor shots. This was the reason by Dom Cobb was kneeling in sand with a Nikon D90 against his face, his elbows jutting out like chicken wings so he can capture the interesting shadow shape James' hand made on Philippa's profile as they built their sand kingdom. "Kingdom" was a generous word, considering that they were on a new sand plot he had painstakingly dug into the backyard. It was a good six feet by six feet and with both children, their molding equipment and the actual structures in it there was barely any room for him.

It took him two weeks to plan out where to put it in the backyard, get all the equipment and sand from the nearest hardware store and actually dig. His interest in building in the real world meant he had actually dealt with contractors long before he decided he wanted to be an architect. Though he was irritated how often some of them seemed to just act as roadblocks to his creative impulses, he appreciated that the experiences with them meant he understood the practical problems and that one can't argue with physics and chemistry. If you get the wrong kind of sand or if you don't layer protective sheeting against the dirt pit wall the whole garden would suffer when it rained and the new sand would seep into the native dirt.

He stood up and dusted off the sand from his knees, making sure the camera lens was pointing away from any errant flying particles. He surveyed the garden and decided he wanted a wide shot that included the new sand plot. He stepped back onto the porch and adjusted the camera focus. He took a couple of shots, setting the viewfinder against his eye as he squints the other. He knew he had to upload all his takes on a computer so he can see the details but he impatiently pressed the view button anyway

His composition was good enough, he supposed. The children and the sand plot were on the lower left corner, and behind them was an unobstructed view of the relatively green valley below. The few trees in the garden were set against the upper right side of the shot. He was able to frame it so that the clouds bathed in sunset colors contrasted dramatically against the quiet simplicity of the garden below.

They bought this plot of land because of the view. It reminded Mal of the gentle hills of her native Nice, and after they moved permanently to the US once she was pregnant with James he wanted her to have a bit of home in a foreign land. He designed the house and was intimately involved in building it. It had been part of the recruitment pitch by the Agency. He built kingdoms for them in exchange for a safe family home in the real world.

After he got back, he didn't want to be apart from Philippa and James. It seemed for a while that they didn't believe he was there, so he stuck to them like glue. During the first month of his return, Miles and Claude stayed with them and made sure he adjusted back to living in the neighborhood again. He didn't get any calls from the Agency, which he considered a blessing. Saito's money was enough to last his family a good number of years as long as he didn't do anything extravagant. He occasionally watched TV but he didn't use the internet. He wasn't interested in finding out if the Inception took. He figured if it didn't he'd hear from Saito or worse there'd be cops dragging him away, but thankfully he's still here.

After they left to go back to France he kept to the small neighborhood stores for his shopping, sticking to people he knew or had been introduced to by his in-laws. Thank goodness they weren't old enough to demand they go to the mall. Apparently they weren't any new ones that sprung up while he was gone. He personally found the strip malls near his home a blight on the landscape. He just didn't like the crowds – or ugly buildings. The children would clamor for the beach often, but he oddly couldn't stomach the idea. He was starting to have an aversion to crowds and the beaches were always full of people. He felt like he was being watched there (_maybe the Agency is tailing me?), _like the world felt wrong. So he compromised with them and now there's a big sand pit in the yard. He felt that it was actually a welcome change to his home, it was something **new** that helped bring life back to his family.

He went back inside the house to get the camera cover lens, keeping his children in his eyeview through the window. He set the camera on the counter and proceeded to the refrigerator to defrost a package of frozen chicken breast in the microwave. He was planning a simple dish for supper, like chicken provencalé. It would nowhere be as authentic as Claude's or Mal's but James liked it. Philippa seemed to be humoring him, voicing in increasing frequency that she missed her grandmother's ratatouille. He couldn't get the texture right and it irked him that it took Claude to get the children to eat vegetables.

Miles had warned him over many a long-distance call that he was spoiling them, but what can he do? He missed them so much so he indulged their every whim. _Almost every whim_. He said no to theme parks, the beach, anywhere with a possibility of crowds gathering. He found suitable distractions that confined them to familiar places and he was surprised that they acquiesced all the time. He credited it to his long absence, but he was expecting the inevitable tantrum. Months passed, and none came. They would just ask for things with a quiet insistence, bringing up a missed treat or other request out of the blue then promptly forgetting.

The wall phone rang in the living room and Cobb jogged over to answer. "Hello?"

"Dom? It's Miles."

"Speak of the devil," Cobb chuckled. He cradled the phone on his shoulder as he looked at the nearby shelves. Evidence of his family's life were on display, from art books to his music collection, both in vinyl and CDs, to Philippa's first stuffed bunny (which was unceremoniously stuck between a nondescript box and a vase at the bottom shelf).

"I heard that Dom."

"So the weekend plans are pushing through?", inquired Cobb, absently fingering his music collection. At his eye level was his wedding picture, set in a simple silver frame.

"Yes, Claude is coming back to Paris after visiting in Nice. You know Dom… nothing is stopping you now from taking my grandchildren here to visit us."

Cobb's fingers froze, his eyes alighting on the cover of a CD. There was a familiar name on it, a name that would enter his mind occasionally.

"Anyway," Miles continued, "we have tickets and if you do decide we have two extra. They're staging the production again after, how long? Years Dom! You don't have to confine yourself to a CD or mp3 or whatever technogadget."

"I don't like airports. Or airplanes," Cobb replied brusquely, his voice low. "Plus I've been away from the States much too long for me to want to just leave…even with the children."

"I just thought I should try," apologized Miles. "Aside from Piaf, this opera was one of Mal's favorites. Given the circumstances, it is ironic… How are the children?"

"They're playing out in the yard. I'm just about to start on supper." Cobb noted the sudden change in topic, but refused to rise to the bait. He knew why Miles brought it up, he was holding the CD in his hand. Ever since he got back, he had cleared his mind of the past. This new calm made remembering Mal more pleasant, he no longer had violent dreams. He had no dreams anymore, but it wasn't new and now he felt at peace with that. It also meant that he refused to acknowledge anything related to Dreaming. _And anyone._

"Dom, aren't you going to ask…"

"No." A beat passed, his eyes lifting from the CD cover to his wedding photo. "Miles, enjoy the weekend. Dress to the nines, and yes I know how ironic it is that it was one of Mal's favorites. I really need to start on supper but do you want me to get the children on the phone?"

"It's alright Dom, I just wanted to check if there was anyway we could get you on this side of the Atlantic. When you're ready…"

"I will come over," soothed Cobb. He hung up the phone and went back to the kitchen.

Just as he finished dicing the tomatoes Philippa came in and sat down on the stool by the kitchen work table, studying him. He got a glass of water and offered it to her, but she shook her head.

"What is it dear?"

Philippa's expression was too dark for a six year old. He put the rim of the glass on his lips, drinking the cool liquid. In a tone from long ago Philippa said, "Grandma said you weren't coming back."

Cobb sputtered and coughed as water went down the wrong tube in his shock.

####

The warm, lemon yellow room was luxurious and pristine, inviting. She held on to the steel grills as she stepped off the elevator.

_This is unexpected._

There were no traces of broken glass on the carpeting, the windows were closed and the hotel suite was in absolute order. Even the flowers on the side table smelled fresh.

She walked through the room, letting her hands graze against the surfaces of the furniture, the flowers, the curtain. She gazed at the window and considered opening it. A cough behind her startled her and she turns around.

####

Ariadne stared at an empty seating area. She cocked her head in the direction of the suite's bedroom doors and heard nothing. Knowing where she was, she knew something or someone had to be with her and proceeded to investigate.

She was slightly hesitant to open the door in case she walked into something intimate but the silence made her brave. Again the room was empty and the bed was immaculate. No sounds of running water in the adjoining bathroom, and the final room in the suite yielded nothing.

Having completed her circuit, she returned to the seating area and sat down facing the window. She felt that she had hidden a secret…something here, in a memory that didn't belong to her. This was where she was confronted with the full gravity of his neuroses. This was where she understood him.

She heard soft giggles somewhere behind her and Ariadne turned her head around wildly, expecting an attack. The suite was still empty save for her.

"You're playing tricks on me! Just come out and say what you want to say!," she barked out at the room. The room did not answer back.

Ariadne decided she had enough and stalked back to the open elevator, grabbing onto the steel grate to close it. But it wouldn't close, stuck despite all her effort. Leaving one hand on the grills, she placed the other hand on her hip as she surveyed the suite. _What was I supposed to understand here?_

_"Do you know what it is to be a lover?"_

The thought came unbidden, and she placed her hands on her head as she frantically scanned her surroundings.

_"Have you ever been half of a whole?"_

Ariadne was panicking, because the voice in her head was unexpected. It was her own voice.

_I don't need or care to be half of a whole. I don't need to be half of just **any** whole. I am **more** than that – I have always been whole._

That was when the steel grate involuntarily unjammed, hitting her on her side. She stepped behind the grills and closed it all the way, the metal clanging sound echoing all around her. She gazed into the suite in front of her once more, feeling no more apprehension.

Mal was standing there, serene, in a bright blue halter top dress. She smiled and waved, and for the first time Ariadne truly saw that she was indeed lovely. She pressed the first floor button and as the elevator climbed up, Ariadne heard the words "Get him home."

####

Philippa's countenance seemed absurdly grim. She held her hands together in front of her on the tabletop, patiently waiting for her father to recover.

"Philippa, I don't know why you're bringing this up but I'm here," Cobb said in a reassuring voice as he held his daughter's hands in his own.

"You're not really here," Philippa intoned with a sadness that shouldn't belong to her. "Did your pictures turn out ok?"

"I haven't checked them on the computer. Honey, what's wrong? Do you want me to stop making supper and come back out there and play with you? Wait… why did you leave your brother alone in the yard?"

Cobb went back to the backyard in a bit of a panic, scooped up James protesting _not done, not done_ the whole while. He dumped him next to his sister in the kitchen.

"Philippa, James is only three! You know better than to leave him alone," Cobb admonished his eldest.

Philippa gave him a look that said _So? Does it matter?_ and simply said "ok."

"I think I found something," mumbled the girl.

"What did you say, Philippa?"

Philippa got up from her chair, took James' hand and said they were going back to their rooms to change. Just as they entered the hallway, Philippa peeked out and said, "You're not completely here," before she disappeared.

Cobb could hear James giggling in the hall.

####

Ariadne stepped off the elevator and nearly tripped on the elevator grill track. She looked down and noticed something lodged there. She froze at the sight.

_That shouldn't be here. That is not supposed to be anywhere near me._

She took off her scarf around her neck as she crouched down and picked the object up with it, folding the scarf several layers unto itself to ensure zero contact.

She proceeded down the hallway, not entirely sure what to expect. The kitchen was empty and the house stood perfectly still. The afternoon light filtered through the redwood shutters giving the kitchen a warm glow, as if it had been waiting to be filled up. She saw no sign of activity.

She sat by the window seat, looking out into the backyard. She thought she caught a glimpse of children running, but she figured she was just channeling him. She recalled the first and last time she visited this place. Ariadne bolted, her body burning from the memory that she sat on the same seat where she first saw Mal and him huddled intimately, his face in her hands.

Standing up gave her a better view of the backyard. She saw an empty porch, a gorgeous sunset sky and a sand plot complete with sand buildings.

_Sand buildings?_ Ariadne walked out onto the porch, forgetting her scarf on the window seat.

####

She had never seen the children, except once in a few moments before she left limbo. All she knew about them was that they were small and blonde. So Ariadne was surprised to find a small city erected in the backyard. As she got closer she noticed a boy and a girl behind the sand skyscrapers. Both of them looked up at her with _his_ blue eyes.

"He- Hello."

Philippa and James looked at her, and then they broke into smiles that reached from ear to ear. At least she hoped that's who these children are. She had no idea where she was pulling their faces from as he never once allowed himself to look at their faces before (which should mean she had no clue).

"You're pretty," chanted James. _I can't believe my subconscious needs this much validation, from a toddler no less._

"You don't believe him?" asks Philippa.

"Aren't you one of Daddy's friends?" James asked, ignoring his sister.

"Yes I am," Ariadne answers. She could feel her mind slipping, tempted by the simple joy of being around this much innocence. There wasn't much time left, she couldn't afford to linger so she barreled forward.

"Your father has to go back."

"I know," said Philippa, looking directly in her eyes.

"Promised to come back," chimes James.

Ariadne shivered. The children spoke as if there was another layer of meaning behind their words. She hugged herself as the chills got the better of her and she noticed her scarf was missing. **_Oh._**

"I think I should go back inside," Ariadne said as she slowly backed away.

"I like you," exclaimed James. "Stay with me." Ariadne's eyes grew wide.

"You don't even know my name," Ariadne stammers.

"I think I do," Philippa replied. "Your name is like a song."

Ariadne had heard many comments about her name, but that had never been one of them.

"Dad plays music I don't understand," said James.

"We know it's not English, and it's not French. I know French," continues Philippa. "It's always sad."

Philippa got up from the glorified sand box and started to mimic what she meant. Ariadne smiled despite herself.

"That's opera dear. I'm not sure how your father knows it, but I know it… if it is what I think it is."

Ariadne's neck starts to goosebump and she strokes her neck to warm up. Dusk was apparently chilly this time in California, or wherever this was.

"Are you alright?"

"I left something in the house by the window seat."

"I'll get it." Philippa skipped to the porch. She stopped for a moment and called out "You have many things to say," before she entered the house.

Ariadne looked back to James, and she swears it is unnatural for a three..? four…? year old boy to have a playful leer on his face.

"What 'ya building?," she asks, crouching down to his level. She examined James features and figured that the boy was going to grow up to be a mirror image of his father. If he had done this sand city by himself, then he had his father's talent already. "Impressive."

"Thank you," James says, his eyes boring into hers. He stopped fiddling, his attention solely on her face.

"Stay and help me build."

"I can't."

"She's not here anymore." Ariadne fought the alarm she hoped didn't show on her face.


	6. Down the shaft part 2

CHAPTER 6  
Down the shaft, part 2

**DISCLAIMER: same as before.  
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"What do you mean James?", whispered Ariadne.

James looked at her quizzically. "She inside," James' brow was furrowed. "Philippa get your scarf."

Relief flooded her, for a while she… she had no idea what she thought. James started fiddling with the avenues, taking care not to come in contact with the sand structures of various heights and shapes.

"It's not done yet," cried James.

"What do you need?"

"I can't find a way out," exclaimed James. "For the cars." James pointed to some of the streets. "Philippa says there are exits… somewhere. I don't know where to put them. She's supposed to know but she's not helping."

"Why not?"

"She says I have to do it."

Ariadne stood up and dusted herself off. She looked back at James one last time and leaned over and kissed the top of his head. "You'll get it done."

She went back inside the house. Behind her, the valley beyond the yard was no longer green. It was nowhere remotely green or healthy but barren, dusty and deserted with nary a breeze stirring.

####

There was no sign of Philippa. The house was as empty as before. She went back to the window seat and saw her scarf scrunched against the backrest. She sat down and stared at the kitchen work area

_He was holding on to her on the floor. Both of them had tears in their eyes, but he was wiping away Mal's tears._

_"Saito's dead by now." Ariadne couldn't keep track of the other things he says, only noting the desperate resolve in his voice._

_"Don't lose yourself. Find Saito and come back."_

_He looked behind him, his eyes leaving Mal's and making contact with hers. "I will."_

Ariadne held her folded scarf in her lap. She braced herself for what she was about to do.

"You are almost whole," she says aloud. "You are more than a half of a whole. You have so much love waiting for you, your children, Miles…Arthur won't be the same without you."

She pauses, "Dominic Cobb, you bastard. Come back."

She grips her scarf (and what it's carrying) and wipes it on her cheeks, absorbing her tears. Somewhere in the background, she could hear the strains of a familiar opera. She senses her time is almost up. Ariadne leaves her scarf on the window seat as she wakes, the words "An dich werd' ich mich ganz verlieren"* hovering in her ears.

* I will lose myself in you completely

####

Arthur was holding her hand when she woke up. Eyeing the intimacy of it, she shook her hand off as she stretched. Arthur was looking back and forth between her and his best friend. There had been no changes so far.

"Well," uttered Ariadne, "I have no regrets."

####

"Papa?," cried Philippa as she stepped out of the hallway and back into the kitchen. She was searching for something, exploring under the dining table and the kitchen work area stools.

"What are you looking for?

Philippa doesn't answer, continuing her search. "Let me help you."

"Found it!," she exclaimed with her arms outstretched in victory. In her right hand was something he didn't think Philippa owned.

She came over and presented it to him. "It's my scarf."

Cobb eyes it suspiciously; it's design too mature for his daughter and too urbane to belong to his mother-in-law. Within the folds is a familiar glint, and he realizes it was something he hasn't seen in nearly a year.

"I don't think that's yours." Cobb picks up his metal top from his daughter's outstretched hand. The weight was familiar. The scarf was familiar, the further he examined it.

"Papa you're not completely here," intoned Philippa.

"Why are you calling me Papa? You call me Dad."

He spun the top absentmindedly on the tabletop. He heard a snatch of a new yet familiar music.

"Papa, Grandma says half of you is missing. That means you're not completely with us."

"No." Cobb's voice rose out of his control. He took his daughter's hands in his across the tabletop (again).

"Philippa, I'm so sorry about having left so long. I've been with you and James all this time. I'm sorry that your mother is not with us anymore. I'm sorry for many things that have made you angry with me. But I'm not sorry that I tried to make things better, even though I probably made things worse. If I didn't do that then I wouldn't have made friends that helped me get back here. Your grandparents may not approve of the lot…actually your grandfather approves of one of my friends very much."

Cobb stalls, a thought niggling at the back of his head. But he recovers and presses on.

"I will always love your mother, but I can't be a broken man anymore. I'm not. I'm not just half of a whole anymore, I'm…"

Cobb detached his hands from Philippa when the familiar movement caught his eye. His top had been spinning a long time, and it was not stopping or toppling over.

"Papa, you're almost whole."

####

His eyes opened up to the first class plane compartment. He scanned around and saw the faces filled with utmost relief and concern and joy. It was a serious case of déjà vu.

The first thing he does is take out his in-seat tray and spins his top on the surface. He waits.


	7. Waiting by the carousel

CHAPTER 7  
Waiting by the carousel

**Disclaimer: same as before**

**A/N: By the way, I credit Addison Miller for the inspiration for Miles' wife's name.**

**And Constant Readers, for those awfully kind and generous reviews, thank you. I will probably keep pimping for them and only because I need to know how to make myself a better writer (but also for this story that has become a dear child, it wants to know how it can get better too). Thanks to Voldemort's Spawn for being my first beta reader. I had not written a whit prior to this, so none of the previous chapters had been beta'd. I believe this is a better product now.  
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The top was lying on its side on the gray melamine surface. Dom Cobb smiled the smile of a truly free man. He turned and caught Saito's grateful countenance. The Asian motioned towards his in-seat phone and nodded, his reassuring smirk saying all Cobb needed to know.

Turning further, Arthur gave him a surreptitious thumbs up (Cobb was seated behind Fischer after all). Then he noticed that the IV was still attached to his wrist… and Fischer was also still attached to the PASIV.

Yusuf was already on the move, clearing up the remaining IVs and the machine while the chief flight attendant was ensuring the cabin was configured back to its original state.

"We only have about an hour left to descent," drawled Eames from behind. "Next time old chap, you could leave a map."

He pocketed his totem and looked out the window. The sun was bright and the contrast between the wispy, cirrus clouds and the blue sky was much sharper than he could imagine. He knew he was truly awake - there was no way he could remember to include the stubborn grime outside the tempered glass of his window in his imaginings, along with the multitude of scratches likely made in the name of removing said scum. He should have crested the Uncanny Valley a long time ago, but he knew now he didn't. He had yearned for his freedom for so long, he barely remembers anything else. _What do you choose to believe?_ He'd been running around with a shade in his head for over two years and had still been the best in the underground espionage world he was originally brought in to bring to heel. He had always been such a realist - had it been desperation and hubris that proved to be his undoing?

The urgency that drove him to sense out, seek out, **hunt **Saito moored him to a harbor in his mind. But when Saito had shot himself across that table... somehow, it became urgent to do something else. Niggling at the back of his head was a promise, to come back... of course that meant to come back to his children, right? What else did he have to come back to? Now, even awake, he tries to grab on to the rationale behind a dream wherein one chose to stay behind. It was fading, but he knew it had to do with doing what was fair... for his family? Of course, that's what it was. He had been lost in limbo fifty years, and carried a real world guilt for so long that there couldn't possibly be any psychiatrist trained to deal with his neurosis. Unless he went back to the Agency... and he found that distasteful. He felt driven to become something whole, to be the father his children deserved and... what else is there?

Once Fischer was fully awake, it was critical that they acted like strangers. In the few moments that they had to debrief before this point of no return, both Saito and Arthur confirmed that Ariadne had attempted to pull him out of limbo. It was impossible based on what they had left on them, he thought. Any outlandish attempts to get to limbo while Fischer was connected would have alerted him. They didn't have any more of Yusuf's special Somnacin blend. Yusuf was awake, the first level of dreaming should have collapsed once he disconnected. Finally, Ariadne had too little experience, though her insights had been spot on and brilliant (and that he had shared his dreams with her, even when he didn't want to).

Cobb absently rubbed his wrist while pressing down on the wound left by the needles with the cotton ball Yusuf gave him. _How was it possible?_ He turned around, scanning the cabin again. They were all present and accounted for, except…

And there she was, returning to her seat. With a familiar scarf around her neck.

####

LAX would always be a busy, crowded hub of activity that would be easy to get lost in. They had split up, ensuring that none of them were in Robert Fischer's point of view at any time.

It was déjà vu. He handed his passport to the immigration officer who cursorily examined it, placing it against the scanner.

"Welcome to the US, Mr. Cobb." Cobb had been nervous standing there, but truly Saito was a man of his word.

"Welcome back to the United States, Ms. Bacchus."

Cobb looked across the next immigration line and saw Ariadne looking back at him with a small reassuring smile on her face. And then she walked away without turning back.

####

He sees her hanging back by the baggage carousel, away from everyone else. She is so small he realizes she is perfect for these jobs because she's easy to miss even when you're looking for her.

Cobb approaches her from behind, saying in hushed tones "Ariadne Bacchus. I didn't know you were Greek. You don't even look it."

Ariadne starts and nearly jumps back into the man. She recovers quickly though and composes herself hopefully before the rest of them could see. (In truth, Arthur sees it all.)

Ariadne allows Cobb to stand beside her, her posture casual but turned towards the carousel mouth in case her luggage arrives first. For all intents and purposes, they look like a gentleman offering his assistance to a small person who may have a massive amount of luggage.

"I'm not Greek," she responds. "My father found it amusing though. It's a classics in-joke, given the family name." She takes a short breath before continuing. "Father loved the classics… There are perfectly good schools in the US and in the UK, so why bother with graduate school where I had to learn another language?" She steals a glance at him, a wistful hint of a smile gracing her face. "**I** like the classics too. French neoclassical architecture changed the world you know."

He remembers Paris folding over itself, and smiles ruefully, "Yes I know. You like bending the rules of the classics too don't you?"

She doesn't know what he means by that, so she doesn't respond. They stand in companionable silence, the conveyor not moving and no bags in sight. Ariadne starts humming a snippet from her childhood. She knows opera singing was never one of her gifts so she opts for her own version of slam poetry delivery. She likely sounds out of tune and doesn't care as she sings softly to herself to pass the time.

"Dunkel wird auf meinen Augen  
Und in meinem Herzen sein,  
Diese Glieder werden bleiben,  
Schön geschmückt und ganz allein.  
Du wirst mich befreien, Mir selber mich geben"

Cobb looks at her stunned, then recites a memorized verse,

"Darkness will shade my eyes and enfold my heart  
These limbs will remain adorned and all alone  
you will set me free, restore me to myself."

Ariadne's face stills, her mouth slightly agape.

"I didn't know you spoke German!," they both exclaim at the same time, in almost the same tone. It was slightly embarrassing, and though they didn't know it both suspected the other of lying.

A few beats later, "My father loved the classics, like I said. Plus given my name he felt _Ariadne auf Naxos_ would be a good thing for me to know. I ended up loving it. How… how do you know it?"

"I lived in Europe for a long time before I moved back to the States. I picked up a smattering of German and Spanish, and of course French. You go to Europe to be immersed in culture and history, as you know. Architecture, theatre. I ended up loving opera." Cobb halts then confesses, "It was one of Mal's favorites."

Ariadne turns away, craning her neck at the mouth of the conveyor when it starts moving and a variety of boxes and strollers became visible. She was facing away from him and it gave him the opportunity to study the scarf around her neck… and her. There is more he wants to say, but it just isn't the place or time. He thinks she is a busybody and brilliant and tenacious and that he owes her for more things than he realizes. He hadn't wanted to infect her mind with his, yet she steamrolled in. Part of him agonizes over why she would do what she thought she did, and recalls her saying something about ensuring everyone's safety. But everyone _else_ had already been saved. The irony that real Mal (and not the psychopath that was in his head for so long) loved the story of Ariadne trapped in an island who was rescued, and loved, by a god was not lost on him.

####

They were priority passengers, so they were supposed to get their luggage first along with business class passengers. Robert Fischer is the first to leave, and all the team members visibly relax when he exits. Among the team their luggage arrived last, everyone else had moved on to the arrivals area. Cobb deliberately helped Ariadne with her luggage despite her protests. He wanted to delay the inevitable.

Ariadne had done what she set out to do. She felt light, yet conflicted. She accepted the coming end but a part of her didn't want to let go. She… had known what it is to be a lover. To be a lover is to give love without condition but without losing yourself. She wanted what was best for him… and that meant his children and his soul. For now, what gratitude was there was more than enough. She knows she will let him go, she has no choice if she wanted her sanity and self respect intact. She knows how to survive it now.

"You're welcome."

Cobb raised an eyebrow in response, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Ariadne knew that Cobb knew she tried to bring him back. She wasn't sure how she avoided Fischer's militarized level, but she did. "I don't know if I actually did anything. I don't even know where I was exactly because I never actually saw you."

"Limbo is not simply another level," Cobb explained, "When I... first got lost there, I don't even recall how many levels we went down to get to that point. Definitely more than what we had done on the plane. It's the state of unstructured subconscious. I don't know how you deliberately -"

"Got lost?", Ariadne said, cutting him off. "Don't... don't look for the factors or the variables. I don't think that would be something you can replicate in another experiment." They both looked down at their feet, the implications of what had been said and not said too big for the time they had left.

Ariadne had all her luggage with her. She looked up at Cobb, giving him a warm smile. "Enjoy your life, Dominic Cobb. Goodbye."

Cobb's expression became stormy, then unreadable, then finally relaxed. He did not move to touch her, nor close the gap between them, but his voice was a silky caress.

"I'll see you when I see you, Aria." Then he turned and walked to his waiting family.

She didn't know how, but he called her by that special name only her father had known. It was the secret name that spoke to her soul.


	8. EPILOGUE By the monitors

EPILOGUE  
By the monitors

**DISCLAIMER: same as before. **

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Arthur was greeted by a dark haired, pale man by the transfer announcement monitors closest to the arrivals gate he was exiting from. He didn't acknowledge Miles as he walked past, but this guy he cannot ignore. He strode past him a bit further, isolating them from other people that could possibly overhear.

"Hayden Titan," Arthur droned. Hayden Titan wore the same black suit and periwinkle tie today that he did when he gave Dominic Cobb a plane ticket and advice to run. It was a uniform the Agency approved of, and it made his pale skin look even paler.

"Arthur Merc," the man responded. He eyed Arthur's luggage then turned his face back to the arrivals gate. "You're doing well out there, I see you're carrying Hermes man bags now."

"What can I say, I have discriminating taste." Both men stood side to side, watching the foot traffic.

"There was an interesting development today. It seems that Malorie Cobb's death was ruled as a suicide by a reconvened investigation. Seems like all of her previous psychiatric assessments, every single one, has been voided because apparently she went to a bunch of unlicensed quacks with malpractice suits a mile long."

"Cobb's charges?"

"Dropped this morning. I'm not even sure that the DA's office was even open at that hour."

"That's good news," says Arthur feigning nonchalance.

"Yes," the man crossed his arms. "It is good news all around for us."

Arthur cast a stony glare at Titan. "The Agency could have done a lot more all these years."

"We just call ourselves the Agency, but really we're still bound to the same bureaucracy and offices we've been seconded from," drones Titan, raising a brow at Arthur. "Well some of us anyway. It's not easy to operate covert in home country. Things could be so much easier in Afghanistan… or Ethiopia. Plus all the evidence to prove his innocence is classified, which you know. Hey, he gets to call his kids practically daily without anyone succeeding with a trace."

Both men watched Cobb hug his father-in-law as he emerged from the arrivals gate. They walked in a relaxed but quick fashion away, homeward bound. Arthur noticed that Ariadne was actually walking not too far away from Cobb, and as discussed didn't greet Miles though he swore the old man and the girl exchanged a look. She walked opposite of the direction he was standing. _Now, just queue the Casablanca music. _He watched her retreating form, and shrugged.

"Is he ready?", asked Titan. Arthur turned back to the man, his face livid.

"Oh come on. He just got back! Very likely he may never come back in again," bristled Arthur.

"Well then you're going to have to report in your debrief session why the operative we've waited over two years for to come back won't."

Hayden Titan also noticed the small brunette. He knows there's a story there somewhere, but it wasn't the most important one… yet.

**Enjambment - ****The term is directly borrowed from the French _enjambement_, meaning "straddling" or "bestriding". Meaning flows as the lines progress, and the reader's eye is forced to go on to the next sentence. It can also make the reader feel uncomfortable or the poem feel like "flow of thought" with a sensation of urgency or disorder. Enjambment may also be used to delay the intention of the line until the following line and thus play on the expectation of the reader and surprise them. **

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**In case some of you may not have gotten the reference, _Ariadne auf Naxos_ is a German opera. The main plot is that in a wealthy house there were two entertainment troupes that had to perform almost simultaneously because of a scheduling error. One was a comedy troupe, while the other was to perform an opera about Ariadne's time in the island of Naxos where Theseus had left her and she was going insane. The opera opens with the Ariadne's anguish at being left by the man she loved and pining for death. Then the lead from the comedy troupe interrupts her and essentially tells her to get a life and screw other men to forget Theseus. Operatic Ariadne dismisses her (of course), but soon the god Bacchus lands in Naxos and woos and rescues her.  
**

**The aria (see?) "Es gibt ein Reich" serves as the basis for the musical score of this story in my head. Not sure how it would sound like slowed down though. The soundtrack to Inception was sort of an homage to Marion Cotillard. As much as I wanted to use something from Juno as it is Ellen Page's breakthrough movie, the songs there just don't fit in the Inception universe. This is where I figured it was time to look to the classics.**

**Nolan did not give any of the other characters last names, so I decided to take a page from the opera but of course with my own twist. Leo and Ellen always said in interviews that Ariadne is Dom's therapist - the person that points out "he needed to do personal work on himself". Ellen also said that Ariadne ended up getting more than she bargained for (which we can interpret any way we want until further verified). But she pointed out that one of Ariadne's strong motivations had been her compulsion to protect others so I hoped that came across here. ****I chose to name her Ariadne Bacchus because she should be whole unto herself, but for purposes of this story she also had to do some "personal work". As for Dom being Theseus, I didn't have the heart to fully go in that direction. Theseus was a bastard who had a fickle heart and kidnapped women he fancied and Dom Cobb was anything but that. Also, I always felt that if Dom has tricked himself into believing he has gone home, then it has to be such a well-crafted delusion where he would have had no contact with any significant counter from his subconscious. As for Mal, in Dom's head she was a bitch (the original Theseus), but I always felt that the real Mal (prior to Dom's inception) would have wanted Dom happy and whole.  
**

**On another character, Saito is haughty, amoral and ruthless which I believe the character has to be. He is not particularly cruel, but he will do what he thinks is necessary. Yet he does come from an environment where loyalty and honor is important. Nash, the original architect, did not display loyalty and so was dealt with. Ariadne here shows a loyalty that he respects. It's not exactly because she tugged at his heart, but loyalty is something he completely understands.  
**

**A subtle point... if anyone got the other naming choices I made, plus points (It will save on further character explanations)! I just realized I created something bigger than I intended with this. (This can have an actual post Inception sequel). But that would depend on whether there is enough interest. I was working on another piece with a slightly different theory behind the ending (hint: Dom is still trapped in Limbo, that's all I can give you), and I was already writing a couple of scenes in there but this just refused to let me go.**

For anyone interested, this is the English translation for Es gibt ein Reich found on a DVD recording of Ariadne auf Naxos. Imagine Cobb holding on to this CD while looking at his wedding picture.

Maybe any German readers (who know this specific aria) can tell if the translation is correct.

There is a realm where all is pure  
It has a name:  
The Realm of Death  
Here nothing is pure.  
Here all is confused.

But soon a herald will come.  
Hermes they call him  
With his staff  
he rules over our souls  
Like little birds, like dry leaves,  
he drives them before him  
Oh beautiful, silent god!  
See! Ariadne waits!  
My heart must be purged  
of all its wild anguish  
Then you will nod to me  
Your steps will approach my cave  
Darkness will enfold my eyes  
Your hand will rest on my heart

In the beautiful ceremonial robes  
bequeathed to me by my mother  
These limbs will remain enshrouded.  
This silent cave will be my tomb  
But soundlessly my soul  
Will follow its new lord  
Like a weightless leaf in the Wind,  
it will gladly follow him down  
Darkness will shade my eyes  
and enfold my heart  
These limbs will remain  
adorned and all alone  
you will set me free,  
restore me to myself

Take this burdensome life from me,  
I will lose myself in you  
Ariadne will be with you


End file.
